


making such fools of ourselves (we're just lost little boys)

by anaesthetist



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 12:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10831083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaesthetist/pseuds/anaesthetist
Summary: There is little in the way of conversation between Calum arriving at Luke’s door under the guise of writing new music and Luke sitting on Calum’s cock, his now infamous shirt, pink and lacy, slipping from one of his shoulders.Calum’s actions are, as always, not nearly as noble as his intentions.





	making such fools of ourselves (we're just lost little boys)

**Author's Note:**

> it's porn. with feelings, i guess. 
> 
> inspired by lost little boys by fatherson.

There is little in the way of conversation between Calum arriving at Luke’s door under the guise of writing new music and Luke sitting on Calum’s cock, his now infamous shirt, pink and lacy, slipping from one of his shoulders.

It starts off innocently enough, Calum arriving at Luke’s door with his guitar in hand, pulling him from a shower with the intention of an impromptu writing session, as he calls it. Luke, who is less than impressed and still dripping water on the floor, grumbles and grumps as he pulls and ties back the damp strands of his hair, going some way to lessen his likeness to a wet dog.

They don’t actually get much work done, though. Luke’s oddly cynical, and Calum can understand why, but that doesn’t mean he’s not slightly offended when Luke asks, “So, did Ash send you here?” while he’s taking the liberty of retuning Calum’s guitar.

Calum, who has strategically placed himself up on the couch, right next to a snoring Petunia while Luke sits cross-legged on the floor before him, screws his face up. “Nah, man,” he says, “just wanted to get some writing done,”—and this is the truth.

But maybe not the whole truth.

Guitar strings squeal under Luke’s grasp. “Yeah, bet you thought I had plenty to write about,” he says, intent on being scathing, but it comes out much too small. He sounds—wounded, like there’s a hole in his lungs somewhere, in his chest. He sounds like his entire ribcage has shrunk, restricting the space for his lungs to expand and his heart to beat. Someone’s going to have to do the humane thing and snap his ribcage open. Calum’s got an awful feeling it’s going to be him. “Fuck you, Calum.”

“That’s not—” Calum begins, but is unsure where to go.

In a way, Luke is right. Calum does think that—but only because it’s true. He knows he’s right. He knows he’s right because this is how Luke deals with things. Calum knows because he’s exactly the same.

It’s funny sometimes, a running joke; Calum and Luke are practically the same person. Two parts of the same body. Kindred spirits. Soulmates. He’s heard about amputees feeling aches and pains and itches in a limb that is no longer there, and that’s what it feels like when Luke is not around. He feels the ache in his presence that is not there. He feels incomplete. Luke will never admit it, but the feeling is mutual, only ten times more severe.

Sometimes, though, it’s the worst thing in the world. Two identical opposing forces crashing into each other again and again and again. Sometimes it’s too much, completely impossible to cope with. Sometimes when there’s no one else left to blame, they see so much of themselves in each other that the easiest thing in the world to avoid hating themselves is to hate each other. This causes separation. This causes the aches and the pains in the body they are missing.

However, in a way, Luke is wrong. Calum is, for the most part, a man of noble intentions. He’s not here to exploit any vulnerability of Luke’s for a decent song or two. That was only a by-product of the healing he’s had in mind. It wasn’t part of the masterplan. He’s not that much of a cunt—and honestly, he’s still a little offended Luke would think him capable of something so sly.

“I’m not here to get a decent song out of you,” Calum tells him. “I just thought you might want to…get some things off your chest.” _Before I have to break it open and save what’s left_.

“If I wanted to talk about it…” Luke opens his mouth, but the words die on his tongue. He never wants to talk about it; the only reason he ever does is when he physically can’t go on without telling someone something, the words so tight around his throat that he thinks he might choke.

Usually it’s Ashton that gets the brunt of it. Luke’s still got this idea of Ashton that Michael and Calum have slightly tempered over the years—this idea that Ashton always knows when and what’s best for him. He’s never really been able to shake the blind trust he’s held in Ashton, and he doubts he ever will. That’s a last resort, though. If deflecting it with Michael doesn’t work, and he can’t write it down or sustain some synthetic enjoyment through partying with Calum, then his last option is to crawl, usually drunk on alcohol or lack of sleep, into Ashton’s bunk and spill his soul.

He’s not quite there yet, though. He’s not really anywhere.

Luke drums his long nails against the body of Calum’s guitar. He looks small, oddly, like he’s already starting to cave in on himself. Like it’ll help, Calum slips from the couch to the floor, lays a heavy hand on the exposed skin of Luke’s knee, squeezes it tight, keeping Luke secure in this reality with him.

“We don’t need to talk,” he tells him. They’re not physically able to, but it’s a nice reassurance. Luke gives Calum the tiniest of smiles, setting the guitar aside. He places his hand over Calum’s. “Luke, man,” Calum warns. “That’s not what I meant.”

Luke doesn’t move his hand. “Please?” he asks, and it’s been a while. Calum’s forgotten how much that single word and the gentle drag of Luke’s thumb across his knuckles makes his stomach flip. “Come on,” he says, verging on a whine, lips threatening to break out into a pout. “Calum, mate, I need you.”

Calum sighs, eyes shutting. This wasn’t part of the masterplan either—but with a pair of blue eyes bordered by batting lashes staring at him, there’s only so much he can resist. He’s only human at the end of the day, and when Luke asks so nicely, well, there’s only going to be one outcome, isn’t there?

They’ve had sex plenty of times before. It’s an odd addition to a relationship supposedly not bound by sexual attraction, but it hasn’t ever made anything awkward. He hears about it all the time, how sleeping with your friends never turns out well, but he knows Luke and he are different. He loves Luke too much to ever be in love with him, to ever risk breaking him like that. Friendships are much more precious, more life-altering, and he’d never give that up. Not for the world.

Luke clambers towards Calum, spreading his legs, sitting in his lap. His body is thick, warm, the illusion of smallness shattered. Calum rests his hands gently on Luke’s waist, slipping his hands beneath his baggy t-shirt and feeling the still-damp skin. Luke wraps his own arms around Calum’s neck, holding him close, holding him still, and leans down to kiss him.

They kiss for a while, little pecks each time, only the slightest part in their lips. Calum moves his hands beneath Luke’s t-shirt, one hand moving down, fingers teasing the waistband of his shorts, and the other spread wide over the small of his back, the press of his fingers softening and hardening with every shift of Luke’s hips. Luke’s own hands are on his neck, still delicate, occasionally pulling at the hair curling at the base of Calum’s skull. Luke is often caught in the uncertainty between soft and rough, kissing Calum with a building fervour. Calum can feel it pulsing through his veins, thundering in his chest.

“Probably shouldn’t do this here,” Calum says, taking his hands from Luke, casting a glance back at Petunia.

Smacking his lips, Luke nods, climbing off Calum and offering out a hand to pull him up. Calum is unbalanced slightly, and finds himself falling into Luke’s chest, catching himself on the fabric of Luke’s t-shirt. Luke laughs, wrapping his arms around Calum, holding him steady. He’s not the only one that needs that.

Luke’s earlier uncertainty has been replaced by assurance. Once shy, a shot of confidence runs through Luke, resulting in Calum being pushed backwards onto his bed, the surprise knocking the breath from his lungs. “What the fuck,” he says out of habit, laughing slightly, watching Luke climb onto the bed and crawl up his body. He sits back on Calum’s thick thighs. “You sure about this?” Calum asks. Just as much as he doesn’t want to use Luke’s current emotional state, whatever it may be, for music, he also doesn’t want to use it for sex either.

With a cheeky smile that catches Calum unaware, Luke shifts his hips slightly to the side, grinds his hardening cock against Calum’s thigh. Swearing softly, Calum reaches around, grabs Luke’s arse in an attempt to move Luke forward, create some friction for his own cock. It’s only fair, after all, and Luke seems to take pity very quickly, and seats himself properly on top of Calum’s crotch, pushing his hips forward in the same slow and steady motion.

“You like that?” Luke asks. He’s still sitting straight up, wet lips impossibly far away from Calum’s. The bedroom light above him acts as some sort of halo.

“Yeah,” Calum answers quietly, hands still pressing into the flesh of uke’s arse through his shorts. He should probably take them off. He asks first, though. “Can I?” he asks, thumbs catching in the waistband.

Luke nods, lifting his arse off Calum and wiggling his hips to help. By the time they reach the bottom of his thighs, Calum abandons grace for haste, yanking them the rest of the way down, awkwardly, with the help of Luke’s bent knees. Without being asked, Luke raises onto his knees and hooks his fingers into the bottom hem of his t-shirt and pulls it up and over his head, the little key-shaped pennant of his necklace coming to rest in the centre of his chest, nestled in his sparse patch of chest hair.

“You, too,” Luke prompts, giving Calum space to pull off his own t-shirt.

Down to their boxers, Luke leans forward a little, and Calum does too, meeting him halfway. “Can I get a kiss?” Calum asks, reaching behind Luke’s head and slowly working out the band keeping his hair in a tiny bun. His damp hair comes down to frame is face.

Nodding, Luke pushes Calum back down and shuffles forward, pressing their clothed cocks together and spreading his thighs. His hair falls forward with him, brushing against Calum’s skin, tickling his face. When Luke eventually kisses him, Calum keeps him close, fingers hooked into the soft flesh of Luke’s back.

Their kisses are a lot of tongue and little care, the wet sound of saliva mixing with the high-pitched whines Luke exudes as Calum slips his hands down the back of his boxers. A top of Calum, Luke alternates between pushing back into Calum’s hands and circling his hips, pressing down onto Calum’s cock, trying to make him feel good. That’s all he wants. To make Calum feel good.

“Can I suck your cock?” Luke asks. His lips are dark pink, shining wet with spit.

Calum nods, fingers in Luke’s hair. Still wet, it’s flatter than usual. Calum prefers his soft curls.

Luke takes his sweet time. He’s slow, moving backwards, pressing kisses to Calum’s stomach as he rearranges their legs to get comfortable. If he could help himself, he would take off Calum’s sweatpants and boxers one after the other, teasing, but he can’t. He’s as desperate as Calum’s about to be. He pulls them down together, all the way off, and lets them fall off the edge of the bed.

Luke takes his sweet time. Now exposed, he goes for Calum’s thighs. He likes them just as much as his cock, he tells him, sucking on the skin and peppering kisses anywhere he can reach. Calum spreads his thighs to accommodate his frame, big and broad, and rises onto his elbows to watch him.

Luke spits twice into his hand, eyes on nothing but Calum’s cock, before reaching out and wrapping a firm hand around Calum. At the slightest breathy exhale this produces from Calum, Luke looks up at him through his eyelashes, lips parted, that dopey, vacant expression plastered across his face. He knows what he’s doing. He’s done it dozens of times before. Still, Calum’s cock twitches in his wet palm, and suddenly his gormless expression changes to one of pure self-satisfied pride.

He continues to stare up at Calum as he shifts forwards, hand still tight around his cock, and kisses the patch of hair around the base of his cock. Calum swallows down nothing and reaches down to tuck some of the hair that’s obscuring his view of Luke behind his ear. Luke smiles, briefly closing his eyes as he sticks out his tongue, beginning to lick wet stripes up and down Calum’s cock.

Calum can’t take it. It’s a losing battle from here on out. He falls back, head on the pillow, but keeps one hand in Luke’s hair, playing with it gently.

For a while, Luke is wet and tactless, leaving a mixture of kisses and drool along Calum’s cock, hand staying around the base until he loosens his grip and tells Calum to fuck his fist. Calum does, lifting his hips up and down, swearing quietly when Luke licks at the tip with each upwards thrust. When he does this, Luke laughs, his breath hot on Calum’s sensitive skin.

Unamused, Calum tightens his grip in Luke’s hair. “Come on,” he says. “Don’t be a dick.”

“’M not,” Luke mutters petulantly before replacing his fist with his mouth, taking Calum inside until his nose is buried in Calum’s pubes. It’s impressive, but it only lasts a moment before Luke pulls off, clearing his throat. “Fuck.”

“Calm down,” Calum says, carding his fingers through Luke’s hair.

Luke smiles. He lowers himself back onto Calum’s cock, barely taking any of it into his mouth. Luke likes Calum’s cock. It’s nice, pretty. It doesn’t leave him with a sore jaw. Calum hesitantly took it as a compliment through his slightly wounded pride when they first started fucking. Luke does look genuinely happy, sucking and slurping and spitting and humming around Calum. It all sends a shiver up the back of Calum’s spine.

After a while, Luke settles into a rhythm, held steady by the grip on Calum’s thighs, only falling out of it when he accidently chokes and gags on his own spit. When he lifts his head up, his face is flushed and sweaty, the light reflecting off his temple and the wet dimple of his cupid’s bow.

He gives no warning before going down again, swallowing bit by bit, eyes screwed shut as he hollows his cheeks. Calum groans, breath hitching at the velvety slide of Luke’s mouth, and grips the bedsheet either side of Luke’s shoulders, not chancing a grab of his hair. Instead, he begins chanting Luke’s name, so easy on his tongue, yet so unfamiliar in the context. He’s not usually so vocal, usually leaves that to Luke, but since he came here with the intention of making Luke feel better, he can do no better than give him the little lines of praise that he perpetually craves.

Luke hums around Calum’s cock in acknowledgement, one of his own hands reaching down to give his cock a firm jerk. The redness of his cheeks has spread to his neck and chest, the skin of his shoulders gathering their own sheen of sweat. Calum feels bad for a moment, making Luke do all the work, but supposes, a moment later, that the control must be nice. Calum will do whatever Luke wants, and maybe that’s more satisfying than anything.

Not that the blowjob isn’t fucking fantastic.

“Awh fuck. So good at this, mate,” Calum says, lifting a hand to pet Luke’s hair. “Fuck, Luke.”

Luke smiles around his cock, drooling and gagging slightly. He pulls off to cough properly. “Thanks,” he says, voice hoarse. Ashton’s going to murder Calum if it’s still like that when they go into the studio. Michael will probably help hide his body, the traitor. “Want me to ride you? Want me to ride your cock?” Luke asks, heel of his palm digging into Calum’s balls.

“Do you want to?” Calum asks back which, okay, is a bit lame, but whatever.

Luke laughs, which makes him cough again. “Just a bit,” he says, beginning to crawl backwards out of bed. It’s the first time Calum sees how hard he is in his boxers. It makes him feel like shit again.

Perching himself up on one elbow, Calum watches Luke potter around looking for lube, one hand working loosely around his wet cock. While sat like this, Calum eyes Luke’s pink shirt lying on the ground; the pink, lacy one that hangs nicely from his frame. Typical Luke to leave it lying at his arse. Otherwise occupied, Luke doesn’t notice Calum leaning down and grabbing it off the floor. He looks genuinely surprised to find him holding it.

“Looked good in it, didn’t I?” Luke says, bottom lip caught in his teeth.

Calum rolls his eyes. Luke doesn’t usually need his ego fed, but today is an exception. He nods. “Wear it for me?” he asks.

Luke throws the bottle of lube onto the bed beside Calum. “Give it here,” he says, opening out his hands. He snatches it out of the air when Calum throws it in his direction. “Don’t think I’ve washed it since I wore it,” Luke admits as he pulls it on anyway. _Of course you haven’t_ , Calum thinks, shaking his head. Since he’s up, he shimmies out of his boxers, leaving him completely naked but for the shirt.

The key to picking friends, as Calum has found, is to find people that are better you and, as a consequence, make you a better person. Your mates being beautiful is just a bonus.

“So,” Luke says, fingers playing with the front of his shirt, suddenly shy. His head is down, his hair falling in his face, hiding it. “What do you think?”

Truth is, he loves it. Luke is beautiful. To avoid the embarrassment of admitting that to Luke’s face, however, Calum simply reaches out a hand, beckoning him forward. Luke climbs back onto the bed and onto Calum’s lap. He kisses Calum, fingers in his dark curls.

As Luke moans into his mouth, Calum’s hand goes to the small of Luke’s back, gathering the lace together in his fingers and fisting it tight. His other hand drops between them both, fingers skimming Luke’s quivering stomach, before finally and wrapping a dry fist around Luke’s cock, spreading the precome around the head with his thumb. When Luke pulls away to breathe, Calum lets go and presses his thumb to Luke’s lips, pushing it inside his mouth.

“Gross, dude.”

“You _just_ had my cock in your mouth!”

As if to illustrate Calum’s point, Luke picks a pubic hair out of his teeth. “’S different.” Luke smiles and reaches for the lube, the sleeves of his shirt falling down his fingers.

Calum catches his wrist before he can grab it. “Let me,” he says, mouth on Luke’s partially clothed collarbone, teeth nipping and tongue licking. If Luke is overly concerned about relinquishing control, he doesn’t let it show, humming.

“Fine,” Luke says, getting off Calum. “How’d you want me, _babe_?”

“Hands and knees, _babe_.”

“So romantic,” Luke mutters, doing as he’s asked, tacking on a quick, “ _babe_ ,” at the end again.

Calum chooses to ignore that in favour of pushing Luke’s shirt up his back and grabbing his arse in his hands. Luke’s got a nice arse. Leaning forward, hands on either cheek, spreading him open, Calum lets a long string of drool land on Luke’s hole. As he rubs the spit in with the pad of his thumb, Luke swears down at the bedsheets, dropping onto his elbows and arching his back. 

“Don’t be a dick,” Luke says, looking over his shoulder.

“Sucks balls, doesn’t it?” Calum bites back, earning himself a middle finger from Luke. In retaliation, he presses the tip of his thumb inside of Luke. “You still want to do this?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, nodding, and that’s enough for Calum to pick up the lube and drizzle some over his fingers. “Could you, uh, go slow? It’s been a while since, y’know—”

“Sure, sure,” Calum says. He pauses, licking his dry lips, one hand wet with lube, the other now fisted in the end of Luke’s shirt again. “Luke, could you, like, maybe—?”

Falling down onto his face and shoulder, body twisted, Luke reached behind himself, spreading himself open for Calum. “Like this?” he asks, head turned to the side, cheek resting on the pillow. It’s not the sexiest of positions, but it’s a necessary evil, or something.

“Thanks,” Calum mutters, rolling the pads of his fingers over Luke’s hole, feeling it open. It might have been a while, but Luke’s wants this. Calum thinks he’s made him wait long enough. He slowly presses in a finger, working gentle and firm against the resistance. He uses his free hand to rub up and down Luke’s spine, mumbling about how well he’s doing, how good it looks.

"Please, Cal."

Calum slowly presses in two fingers. Luke’s relaxing, body sagging. “Tell me when you want another,” Calum says, lazily working his fingers in and out of Luke, occasionally spreading them a little more, loosening him up. He spits between his fingers then, making Luke jerk in surprise. He laughs. “Sorry. You can let go if you want,” he adds, brushing his fingers over Luke’s, urging them away.

“Just add another, prick,” Luke sasses, curling his fingers into the pillowcase by his head. He shuts his eyes and swallows hard when Calum works in a third, accompanied by an overly generous supply of lube, most of which Luke can feel running down the back of his thighs. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Feels good, Cal.”

“Yeah?” Calum curls his fingers.

“Yeah,” Luke confirms, turning his face into the pillow. Cautiously, he fucks himself back on Calum’s fingers. “Oh Christ. Fuck me now.”

“Are you ready?” Calum asks, stilling his fingers, allowing Luke to move up and down them at his own pace. When he eventually pulls them out, he wipes them on the back of Luke’s thigh and takes a hold of his own cock, rubbing the head against Luke’s hole, matting the hair there with lube and precome. “You want it?”

Luke pushes himself up on his hands, turns over carefully, shirt open and hanging behind him. His chest is red and heaving, a thin layer of sweat beginning to form and he’s not even been fucked yet. Calum doesn’t take his eyes off of him as he reaches for the lube and slicks up his own cock, keeping a hold of it as he plops himself down again, sitting back against the headboard when Luke moves to give him space.

“You look hot,” Luke says offhand. “Bro.”

“Thought you were gonna say no homo for a moment there. Would’ve had to leave you with blue balls,” Calum jokes as Luke shuffles towards him on his knees until they’re chest to chest. Calum shivers at the feeling of Luke’s necklace against his warm skin, so cold it almost burns. He feels Luke knock his hand away from his cock and lets him, moving both his hands to Luke’s waist, clutching it through the fabric of his shirt.

Calum’s cock in a tight fist, Luke uses it to tease his entrance. He presses back experimentally, staring down at the non-existent space between them in concentration. He puffs out his cheeks, breathes in and out hard through his nose. Another necessary evil, he thinks as he feels Calum’s hands slide down to the back of his thighs, supporting him as he moves back. He sighs, dropping his head to the side in frustration.

Licking his lips, Calum lifts his hands to Luke’s bearded chin, tilts his face up. “Do you want to stop?” he asks, stroking his thumb just below Luke’s lips, feeling the bristly hairs scratch against his skin. Luke shakes his head. “You sure? We can write some music instead.”

Needless to say, when Calum suddenly feels Luke’s thumbs pressing against his throat, hands around his neck, his heart almost stops beating. “Shut up,” Luke is growling at him, teeth bared, eyebrows stitched together in the centre. There’s something menacing in Luke’s eyes, but he loosens his grip after a moment. “Sorry,” he breathes out heavy. “Should’ve asked if you were still into that.”

Calum swallows hard. His cock abandoned by Luke, he squeezes the base of it tight, rubbing the head against Luke’s hole like before. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. “It’s okay. I am,” he admits, cheeks reddening. He clears his throat. “Do you want more lube?” Luke nods. “Here you go,” he mutters, drizzling more onto Luke’s fingers, letting him do it himself this time. This time, Calum spreads Luke open, and kisses his shoulder for comfort.

Luke tries again. It’s better—much, much better.

Calum doesn’t move, letting Luke do as he so pleased. Sitting up on shins, his knees, arms wrapped around Calum’s neck, Luke begins rocking and bouncing, his movements small and torturous. It’s Calum that’s begging for more, hands tight in Luke’s shirt, his face sweaty and hidden in Luke’s chest, occasionally sucking on the skin and hair that he happens to find.

“Jesus Christ, Cal,” Luke moans, shifting back a little, working himself further and further down his cock. His hands hook over Calum’s shoulders, his grip bruising. Calum doesn’t mind. “Fuck me a little,” he says, and it sounds like an order, not a suggestion.

So Calum does fuck him, slowly, carefully, the movement of his hips calculated. Luke jerks occasionally, pulls off with a whimper and Calum rubs the base of his spine, telling him, once again, that it’s alright if they stop. Luke appreciates the concern before trying again, each time notably easier than the last until he’s all the way down, by which point Calum has stilled completely, blissed out by the feeling of _Luke_ and petrified of causing him any distress.

“Your pain threshold is pitiful, man,” Calum jokes as Luke circles his hips cautiously, Calum’s cock still completely inside him. In a bid to avoid becoming the most useless sex partner of all time, Calum takes a hold of Luke’s half-hard cock, stroking it firmly in a spit-damp hand.

“The physical shit I can deal with,” Luke says, breathing laboured. _Well that’s a fucking lie_ , Calum thinks but does not say. “It’s the stuff on the inside—” Luke stops, lifts his head to look Calum straight in the eye. “Calum,” he whispers, voice cracking. His eyes crinkle when he squeezes them shut, and all of a sudden he’s moaning bloody murder, hips moving in the same, miniscule pattern. “Oh shit, Calum.” His mouth hangs ajar, his tongue resting just behind his bottom lip. “ _Ho-o-o-o-ly shit_.”

Calum jerks Luke’s cock in his fist with more purpose. “Found it?”

“What do you f-fucking think?” Luke half laugh, half groans, tipping his head back, beginning to move more freely up and down Calum’s cock.

Still not daring to fuck up into Luke, Calum cups Luke’s arse, guiding him along without dictating his movements in anyway. He doesn’t mind though. “Feel so fucking good around me,” he moans, and Luke laughs, clenching tight, because he wants Calum dead, or something.

It doesn’t take much longer for Luke to be properly bouncing on Calum’s cock, his necklace slapping between them both, his shirt beginning to slip from one of his shoulders. Calum thinks about fixing it, but decides against it, the sight too hot, too sinful to alter. It falls all the way to the crook of Luke’s arm by the time he’s panting nonsense in Calum’s ear, the freckles on his shoulder and collarbone exposed and soon kissed by Calum’s soft lips.

“Hey, you gonna come soon?” Calum asks, panting.

“Maybe.” Luke rubs his hands over Calum’s shoulders. “Hold my hand?”

Calum doesn’t question this request, just let’s go of Luke’s arse and bends his arms towards his shoulders and lets Luke lay his hand in his, linking their fingers together tightly, holding on as he continues to fuck himself. “Shit, man, this is so cute,” Luke laughs, slightly higher than usual, his cock dragging across Calum’s stomach with every movement.

This, of course, doesn’t last very long. Luke is close, and very soon he’s slipping a sweaty hand out of Calum’s grasp to wrap around his cock, telling Calum over and over again that he’s going to come, he’s going to come, he’s going to come.

Luke’s eyes are closed as he comes, face scrunched up tight, moaning high in Calum’s ear. “Pull out,” he whines. “Cal, pull out.”

Calum does, slowly, carefully.

“Come on,” Luke urges, recovering surprisingly quick. He wraps a dirty fist around Calum’s hard cock. “Fuck my fist. There you go,” he says, softer, lips by Calum’s ear, beard scratching the sensitive lobe. “There you go.”

Luke feels Calum’s face twist against the line of his shoulder as he comes, groaning, all over his stomach. He doesn’t let go at first, slowly moving his hand up and down Calum’s cock, pressing his thumb against the slit, spreading the mess around the head. He brings his hand to Calum’s mouth afterwards, pushes his fingers past his lips and makes him taste himself. The both of them. Payback.

Calum lies there, spent, hand on his chest, feeling his heart pound. He turns his head to Luke, who’s wrestling to get his shirt off. Once he’s got it off, he uses it to wipe his fingers and stomach clean, then does the same for Calum. Leaning over Calum, he chucks it back on the floor where Calum had found it. He stays hovering over Calum for a moment, sweat shining on his temples and the tip of his nose. Calum reaches up, tucks some of his hair behind his ears.

“You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Luke says, nodding, the hair falling back down again. He leans down, gives Calum a kiss on the mouth. “Love you, too, man.”

Calum smiles and pulls Luke down for a cuddle, just like old times, and plants a kiss on his hairline after pushing his curls back. Maybe one day they'll write a song about this.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading. i hope the fact they were friends wasn't...unsatisfying, i just find friendships much more interesting. probably why i like cake so much hahaha. also sorry for that ending lmao. i'm partycake on tumblr if you want to talk cake to me. especially of the sponge or madeira variety.


End file.
